


Finding Solace In Tattooed Arms

by brokenspell77



Category: WWE
Genre: M/M, Slash, WWE - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenspell77/pseuds/brokenspell77
Summary: CM Punk had been betrayed by his friend and manager Paul Heyman at Money In The Bank, then on the following nights Raw he was brutalised by Heyman's monster Brock Lesnar. Punk is battered, bruised and he feels utterly defeated. Can 1 man give Punk solace and make the Second City Saint believe in himself once again? WARNING: Slash/Swearing. *ONE SHOT* CM Punk/Randy Orton. Punkton.





	

**July 16th, 12.41am**

The room was pitch black, the light switched off long before as it only added to the pain rippling around in CM Punk's head. His night hadn't been a pleasant one. Raw was a memory filled with blinding pain as Punk collided with 'The Beast' Brock Lesnar.

Punk knew a confrontation with the MMA fighter was inevitable. He welcomed the fight. A showdown with the Anomaly was expected and wanted after Brock had hit him with an F-5 a month prior on his first night back on Raw after a two month hiatus. Ever since that night he had been clamouring for revenge.

And now not only did he have revenge on his mind when it came to Lesnar, Paul Heyman would also feel his wrath. He was still feeling the effects of Heyman's heartbreaking betrayal the night prior at the Money In The Bank PPV, it was taking a heavy toll not only mentally, but physically. A jagged edge of the steel ladder that Heyman swung at him smashed into his skull, opening a gash that required thirteen staples to close.

So indeed Punk had been hoping with all his might for revenge that night on Monday Night Raw. Whilst also seeking much needed answers. He wanted an explanation for Heyman's actions. He was confused, angry and upset at his former friends betrayal and he had the hope of finding an answer to his queries whilst simultaneously dishing out a well deserved beating on his former manager.

But even the best laid plans can fall apart.

After verbally sparring with Heyman, the ECW legends monster arrived. Punk knew the inhuman strength Lesnar possessed. The memory of being lifted onto Lesnar's shoulders and unceremoniously thrown in the air only to crash to the canvas in a bone shaking F-5 came screaming back at him at that very moment.

But he didn't back down. He never would. He stood tall and strong. He waited. Armed and ready. His hand clutched one of his most useful weapons; only this time the microphone he held wouldn't be used to drop a pipe bomb it would be used to bludgeon Lesnar's face.

However, with both eyes zoned in on the advancing monster he forgot about the evil genius that handled it. Heyman hit him from behind and Brock quickly took advantage. He was tugged by his legs from the ring onto the arena floor. The brawl ensued and Punk gave as good as he got despite his body still feeling the after shocks of the ladder match from the night before.

The battle spilled around the ringside area, Punk could feel the fight leaving his body bit by bit. He was thrown like a rag doll across the floor by his hoodie, the force rivalling that of being thrown free from a car wreck. On unsteady legs he scrambled to his feet and delivered hard forearm shots, but Lesnar withstood the onslaught and took a rough hold of the Second City Saint and launched him over the top of the announce table. Punk's ribs ached immediately on the crash landing, his head spun, his equilibrium suffering, yet he yelled at himself internally to get back up. He clambered onto the announce table and with a short run up he flew into the air only to be caught by the monstrous man as if he were a small child. His spine cracked as it was forcibly bent around the unforgiving steel post of the ring. The air rushed out of his lungs and his body was wracked with pain. Through the blinding pain he could just make out the smarmy asshole Heyman encouraging Lesnar to inflict more damage. As was always the case Brock dutifully obliged. Punk was dragged back to his feet, his body practically lifeless. His fogged up brain was pleading with his body to fight back, but he was exhausted and broken down. His tank was empty, he was running on fumes. He had nothing left. He was hauled onto Brock's shoulders, then elevated and spun as Brock delivered a destructive F-5 onto the announce desk.

The impact was severe. The table didn't yield, his bones rattled and his muscles tore as he bashed into the table and then fell to the floor at the commentators feet. His vision was distorted and blurred and all he could feel was stabs and jolts of pain from head to toe. He figured he must've blacked out momentarily because the next thing he was aware of was trainers and medical personnel by his side. He pushed them away, he couldn't allow Lesnar or Heyman to think he was hurt or weak in anyway. He didn't need anyone's help. But the stubborn mind was defeated by the ailing body. Moments after struggling to a vertical base his legs gave in, the pain was searing and unbearable as he fell back to the ground and admitted defeat.

He had ignored the compassionate and concerned looks from fans, colleagues and friends, he wanted to avoid any questions or conversations. After being looked over by the trainer he headed straight out of the arena and for his hotel room.

There he had led unmoving for an hour.

**12.58am**

Punk had a splitting headache, his vision still blurry. It actually hurt to keep his eyes open. His ribs sent out jolts of pain with every breath and he led curled up with a protective arm wrapped around his midsection. His neck and shoulder ached, the F-5 having a whiplash effect as he was flung brutally onto the table. His ankle was already bruised and swollen from where it clipped the table on impact. Punk felt utterly wrecked. He felt as it he had been mowed down by an 18 wheeler. He had been in wars and vicious battles before, and whether he came out on top or not he never once was kept down. Nothing kept him from hunting his enemy down once again. But after tonight for the first time in CM Punk's life he felt trickles of self doubt creep in.

The Second City Saint wasn't sure he could best Paul Heyman. He wasn't sure he could hang with Brock Lesnar. He wasn't sure he could ever beat Brock Lesnar in the squared circle. Those doubts reverberated and echoed inside his throbbing cranium and he wished that something, anything could shut out those voices and stop the pain racing around his beaten and battered body.

**01.05am**

Then he heard the quiet click of the door opening. A crack of light beamed into the room as he stepped inside. He actually came. He was there.

As soon as the mattress dipped beside him all of Punk's frantic fearful thoughts slowed and ground to a halt. He really was there.

The moment Randy Orton stepped into the room his scent drifted into Punk's senses. A calm exhale, the first he had taken all night, slowed his trembling body. Punk often wondered how could the man just simply enter a room and easily install such a stillness inside of him. Punk's body relaxed, the tension seeping from every muscle expunged like water being squeezed from a sponge.

Nearly a year had past since their unique relationship began. Well if the word relationship was what you could actually call it. They had never truly defined what was between them. But undeniably there was some spark. Something intrigued them both. Something kept them coming back.

One lonely night they had found comfort in the other and after awkward tension in the subsequent weeks they found themselves irresistibly drawn back to each other. Time and time again. They never talked about their feelings for one another. They never broached the subject of them being an official item. Instead one of them would turn up at the others door in the middle of the night, wordlessly asking for comfort that only the other could give. And not once would they be turned away with a door slammed in their face. It was a notion that never entered either mans head.

They found comfort and bliss in each others bodies, yet once morning arrived one of them would have already disappeared from the room. Silently they longed for more chaste kisses and stolen moments together, but were afraid to take the leap of faith and potentially lose the other all together. It never occurred that they could actually attain all they ever wanted if they found their bravery.

Neither man truly understood how they found themselves in that situation. They couldn't understand why if felt so utterly implausible to walk away from one another.

But sometimes some things are just meant to be clouded in mystery, and are designed to never be understood.

A warm body enveloped Punk, a tattooed arm covering his own as Randy entwined their fingers together as he held his hand. The smallest gesture causing the slightest hint of a smile on the Straight Edge Superstars face. But it was fleeting. The damage to his body and to his mind had never been more catastrophic. Punk was reeling and not even Randy Orton could keep the misery at bay.

'What are you doing here?' Punk whispered into the darkness.

Randy didn't reply immediately. He struggled to find an answer. Well, he had one, but he held back on saying it. Like all the times before. 'I had no one else to be.' He finally replied.

Punk closed his eyes. He felt a twinge of disappointment at the answer, but he ignored it and instead pushed back into the radiating heat of Orton's body grateful for the man being there anyway. The reason didn't matter at the moment in time.

'People told me. They all warned me. Right from the start, all those years ago back in OVW that I couldn't trust Paul Heyman. And I didn't listen. I guess I'm paying the price now, huh?' Punk spoke quietly, the usual hard determined edge in his voice nowhere to be found. He was betrayed by a man he trusted more than anyone else in the world, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Randy took note of Punk's demeanour. Over the last year he had got to know the man behind the Superstar, and it alarmed him to know that he had never seen CM Punk in such a state before. He wanted to support Punk. To initiate the fire of retribution in the Straight Edge Superstar, but he was unsure of how to. The Apex Predator remained silent hoping that Punk just needed to vent his frustration, to get it off his chest and just get the sorrow out of his system.

'His reputation should've made me realise. How could I have been so stupid? His reputation proceeded him, it told the story and I turned a blind eye to it. I've been a fool. I've been an absolute idiot. Hell, maybe I deserve all that I got.'

Hearing Punk blame himself for Heyman's treachery spurred Randy into action. He couldn't and wouldn't allow Punk to shoulder the blame. That was all on that slime ball Heyman! The only thing Punk was guilty of was misguided trust. A crime most people unfortunately fall for in their lives. Randy knew he had been a victim of it in the past.

'I remember how it feels. I know what you're going through.' Randy finally voiced, alluding to his past almost a decade ago in the faction known as Evolution.

Way back in 2004 he had achieved his dream of being a World Champion and instead of being congratulated he was vilified and cast aside by his cohorts Batista, Ric Flair and the ring leader Triple H. All the memories flooded back, but he remembered that he had come through the other side, exacted revenge and wasn't held down long.

Another thought dawned on Orton, that being that he wasn't always a perfect angel. 'I've been burnt before. Hell, I'm the one that's done the burning.' He admitted. 'You have too, Punk. You're not completely innocent.' Randy reasoned.

'I never claimed to be!' Punk fired back. He wasn't mad at Orton's speech, he knew what Orton said was true. In fact he admired the Vipers candour. He didn't sugar coat the truth. He said what he felt. He was straight talking. One of many reasons why CM Punk found himself enthralled by the man.

'What I'm trying to say is we're all guilty. And once found guilty, you meet your fate. You need to let go of the friendship, Punk. You need to harness all that hurt from Paul's betrayal and turn it into blind rage and hate. You know to get to him you're going to have to get through Lesnar first. And you're going to need all that and more to beat Brock...you know that.'

Randy feared for Punk's safety and well being. Lesnar had no regard for anyone's lives, he was a monster under Heyman's control. But he knew from personal experience how tough CM Punk truly was. He was a battler, someone that never gave up, no matter the beating or injuries that he endured.

That didn't stop the urge to help Punk rip both Heyman and Lesnar apart though. Punk would hate for him to interfere, so he wouldn't. He knew this battle was to be fought alone. He believed in his heart Punk could win. He believed Punk could hang with Lesnar. He believed he could defeat the Beast Incarnate, but as he lay with his secret lover he wondered if CM Punk believed CM Punk could beat Brock Lesnar.

Punk knew Randy was right. He had to stop focussing so intently on Heyman for the time being, he had to slay the Beast first. There always had to be a monster guarding the treasure the hero desired.

But Heyman's words hung heavy overhead. They haunted him. 'CM Punk cannot beat Brock Lesnar.' Before that night Punk would've fought vociferously that he could, he would argue against all the naysayers. He was no push over. He was the Best In The World. But his savaged body was a painful reminder of the beating he suffered at the hands of Lesnar. Brock threw him around like he was nothing, swatted at him like he was nothing more than a nuisance. His confidence was shaken, the man that was normally filled to the brim with confidence in his abilities and harnessed a positive mental attitude was left questioning and doubting. All of his normal characteristics had evaporated. Self doubt took hold. He was a shell of his former self.

'What if he's right? What if I can't beat Brock?' Punk whispered into the dark, his voice sounding so fragile and small.

'I know you can.' Randy whispered into his ear encouragingly, before placing a kiss to Punk's temple. 'All Heyman's words are just to get in your head. Don't let his mind games get to you.'

'He's right though. Look at what Brock did to me tonight?' Punk said, turning onto his back wincing as pain coursed through his body.

'So what? Get used to it. Brock will always have the strength and size advantage over you. You know that. It doesn't mean he's better than you though.' Randy was desperately trying to rally Punk to reinstall the confidence and self belief, but the sparkle that usually lit up those familiar green eyes was missing. The eyes staring back him were blank, empty, defeated, they belonged to a stranger.

'I'm beaten up. My body is battered. Paul's right...'

'Punk shut up! You were the WWE champion for 434 days. You've beaten everyone on the roster. You did that by being the best wrestler in the world. And there is no doubt in my mind that you're a better wrestler than Brock Lesnar. You've just got to be smart.' Randy declared in a passionate speech. 'So, are you done with the pity party? Because the old CM Punk needs to come back right now!' Randy demanded.

Punk rose a hand and caressed Randy's cheek before kissing him lovingly on the lips. 'You believe in me that much?'

'I'll always believe in you.' Randy rested his forehead against Punk's wishing with everything that he had that the old Punk would resurface and attain his revenge.

Punk let out a sigh and lost himself in Randy's touch. One hand running without direction under his tee-shirt, stroking over his belly whilst kisses were peppered over his neck and jaw and cheek affectionately. Slender fingers ran through his hair. Finger tips tracing every ridge of the thirteen metal staples in in his head. All the pain seemed to be absorbed by Randy's touch. The throbbing, the aching, the shooting pains fading as tingles washed over his body head to toe as Randy lovingly touched him all over.

'I can do it.' Punk said quietly to himself. 'I can do it.'

Maybe Randy had absorbed the self doubt and crisis in confidence too. Randy heard Punk's voice get louder as he chanted the sentence over and over. He could sense the steely determination reestablish itself in Punk's very core. He knew Punk wouldn't back down or waver from the battle. He would be the one sending out the war cry. He would be the one taking the fight to Heyman and Lesnar from now on. Whether victory over Lesnar came or not, it wasn't what Punk truly wanted. What CM Punk wanted most was Heyman bruised and bloodied by his own hands.

Both men knew it wouldn't be easy, it would be a rocky path to navigate and Punk wouldn't come away unscathed, but Punk would be damned if he didn't pummel Paul into oblivion. Punk was itching to get his hands on Heyman. Itching to exact a beating on Heyman, and anyone else that stands in his way.

Including Brock Lesnar.

If he had to first vanquish the Beast before he could get to Heyman than so be it. Punk was now clamouring for a match with Brock Lesnar at the biggest PPV of the summer. Punk knew come next Monday he would be taking the reigns, he would be the one setting the date for a war and challenging Heyman and his monster to a fight at SummerSlam in Los Angeles.

August 18th couldn't come soon enough.

..............................

**August 19th. 2.49am**

Time had flown by as Punk and Randy rested curled up in each others embrace. Silence had taken over and both were content to stay in it. Punk's body may hurt, but he felt strong inside. He knew he had made just one mistake. One single solitary moment of weakness.

After a titanic battle that lasted for over twenty minutes Punk had the victory in his grasp. Lesnar was trapped in the Anaconda Vise seconds away from tapping out when Heyman interfered. The fat slob slid into the ring and through his peripheral Punk saw the bastard and before Paul could get his hands on the steel chair that was lying in the middle of the ring Punk stopped him.

Heyman hit and slapped pathetically at his leg that stood on the chair that Heyman wanted to use as a weapon against him, but Punk had thwarted him. Punk dragged the ECW founder to his feet and he enjoyed every single second of pleading that came from Heyman's ugly face. Punk couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he had the traitorous Heyman in his clutches. He flattened Paul with a punch to the face, and as soon as Heyman hit the mat Punk locked him into the Anaconda Vice.

All the wails, cries and begging was music to his ears. He heard Heyman tapping the mat frantically, but that only made him tighten his grip. But his revenge was cut short. A fleeting joy as pain took over his body as he was nailed with a vicious chair shot. Once. Twice. Thrice. He reeled from the forceful blows and he was dragged to his feet before being hauled onto Lesnar's shoulders. His energy tank was empty, his body aching and racked with unimaginable pain. He couldn't fight off the grip Lesnar had on him, and he was flung into the air with a devastating F-5 that resulted in him smashing directly onto the steel chair that had already bashed his body to bits.

The sound of the crowd degenerated into a dull hum. The referee's count sounded so far away. His eyes glazed as he stared up into the bright arena lights overhead. His body limp on the mat. Slowly the world filtered back into his conscious. Boo's echoing. Lesnar's music turned up loud in the Staples Center. Punk shook the cobwebs from his head and realisation finally dawned on him that he had been defeated. His promise to slay the Beast and get revenge on Heyman unfulfilled. Disappointment flooded his body, drowning him in its waves. Not even the standing ovation from the WWE Universe could save him.

Only one person could.

Not long after midnight struck, his hotel room door creaked open and The Viper wrapped him up in strong comforting arms. A tender and loving kiss to the back of his neck. Already the disappointment was evaporating.

'I fucked up.' Punk whispered. He knew that one mistake was fatal.

'You can't blame yourself for that.' Randy wouldn't allow Punk to judge himself so harshly. 'Anyone in your shoes would've done the same. I know I would've.'

Punk turned over the blue eyes shining down on him sending goose bumps over his skin. 'You told me not to focus on Heyman. I knew that I shouldn't, but I did and it cost me.'

'You got your hands on him though.' Randy reminded him.

'For ten seconds.' Punk shook his head ruefully. 'It wasn't good enough. I want to beat that bitch black and blue.'

Randy smiled, the fire in Punk's gut hadn't been extinguished from the sting of disappointment at his loss. It seemed he didn't have to rebuild Punk's confidence like last time.

Punk nudged him with an elbow. 'What are you smiling at? You're meant to be on my side.'

'I am. Always.' Randy leant forward and kissed Punk's lips. 'I'm just happy you're still determined to get to Heyman. I guess, I was a little worried...'

'That I might be down on myself.' Punk cut in. Randy nodded in confirmation. 'Well, last time someone gave me some good advice. Reminded me to always believe in myself. To never give up. That I would get my revenge eventually.'

'Sounds like a smart guy.' Randy smiled.

Punk nodded before placing a kiss on Randy's lips. 'He is. I may have lost to Lesnar, but I know that I had him beat. Everyone knows I had Brock Lesnar beat. Brock knew I had him. I just let my hatred for Heyman interfere. That's the only reason I lost. And most importantly Paul knows that. And he knows that I'm relentless. And that I'm not going to stop coming after him.'

Randy beamed at Punk's impassioned speech, and he couldn't wait for the day when his man got hold of Heyman and dished out his much deserved revenge. He pulled Punk tighter to his body, Punk curled into his chest and threw a leg and an arm around Randy.

A comfortable silence took over.

**3.34am**

'Randy, why did you come here tonight?' Punk asked, shattering the silence.

Punk heard Randy breathing, could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain searching for an answer. Eventually the deep voice that he yearned to hear more and more spoke up.

'I had nowhere else to be.'

Punk felt that twinge of disappointment return. Yet he wasn't surprised by Randy's words. Both were too guarded. Too wary of letting anyone close. No one would breach the walls that they had built up. They had been subject to betrayal one too many times. So whatever was between them would remain unacknowledged and it would be that way for one reason; it would be that much easier to bury and forget in the future.

'I should go.' Randy sat up and perched on the edge of the bed. The minute Punk asked that question again tension seeped into the room and engulfed them. Randy felt the overwhelming need to escape.

Punk was used to Randy bailing in the middle of the night. He was used to doing the same exact thing himself. His subconscious was reaching out and pleading with Orton to stay though. And for once the fortress built inside his chest allowed someone to enter.

'Stay. Please?' The beaten and battered man reached out for the retreating Viper.

Two simple whispered words. Randy stopped dead in his tracks. He turned and the look in Punk's eyes chipped the ice around his heart and he found himself unable to leave. He turned and curled up back beside Punk, the tension collided with something else. Something tangible. Something so thick Randy could almost taste it.

Randy wore his viciousness like a badge of honour, yet the razor sharp edges softened and his caring affectionate side showed itself when it came to the man who he held tightly in his arms.

Right beside Punk was where he belonged.

 

**4.11am.**

Sentimental words were threatening to escape Randy as he breathed in Punk's delicious scent. He felt a shudder through his body transport through to Punk and he couldn't contain himself as he placed a delicate kiss on Punk's forehead.

Green eyes gazed up at him and he got lost in the beauty. He couldn't withstand holding back any longer. For nearly a year they had danced around their feelings. For nearly a year Randy Orton had wanted to tell Punk how he felt.

Randy ran a gentle thumb back and forth over Punk's cheek as he cradled Punk's head in his palm. The affection that was being shared between them was overpowering. Their hearts thumped. Their bodies ran hot. Their limbs trembled with nerves. The anticipation thick and heavy.

Green collided with blue and the explosion finally happened.

'The reason I'm here is because I want to be.' Randy whispered, his voice tinged with nervous energy. Randy couldn't even look Punk in the eye as he spoke, he was to afraid of the potential of rejection. 'I wouldn't be anywhere else but here. With you. Even though it's the last place I should be.'

Punk's breath lodged in his throat at Randy's words. He knew what they meant. He knew what Randy was trying so desperately to say. Punk smiled, squeezed Randy's hand in his own and kissed him.

'I'm glad you're here.' Punk's smile shone and it was mirrored by Randy, relief flooding his whole body. 'It's not the last place you should be Randy. It's the very first place you should be. I always want you here with me.'

Punk and Randy kissed passionately as they declared their love for each other. Both had history of being betrayed by those that they trusted beyond all others. To let the barriers down again and have someone enter their heart was not such an easy task. But both men were beginning to realise that maybe it was worth letting those barriers down for someone who you increasingly believed was the love of your life. And maybe one day soon they would actually be able to declare their love officially with those three important words.

It was still so hard to understand. They found comfort in each other. They found affection in each other. They found love in each other. Even though normally they would've been the very last person in the world they would have suspected to find all that in. They weren't even looking for that in one another, just solace.

But some things came in welcome mysteries. Some things weren't designed to understand.

They found what they originally longed for, that and so much more.

They found solace in tattooed arms.

........................................


End file.
